


The cult of the lost cause (brought to you by: a metaphorical kick in the ass)

by The_Readers_Muse



Series: A Fine(r) Art [5]
Category: Bridgerton (TV)
Genre: Angst, Art, Colin is too dense to function but that is why we love him, Drama & Romance, Eloise is the only braincell left and even she aint there yet, F/M, Jealousy? Never heard of her, Period Typical Attitudes, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, high dramance here my bbs, oh the turntables, somebody come get herrrr she dancin like a stripper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29560032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: She dropped her fan.
Relationships: Colin Bridgerton & Penelope Featherington, Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington
Series: A Fine(r) Art [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2122908
Comments: 58
Kudos: 220





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own "Bridgerton" or any of the show's characters, wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: Part five of the "A Fine(r) Art" series. Please read "Every Aphrodite is valid (just ask Zeuxis)," "Gulosity (in all things)," "Aisthētḗs (or in other words: you're my aesthetic, baby)," & "Interruptions (or: somewhere God is laughing)" first – in that order.
> 
> Warnings: drama, romance, romantic tension, unresolved sexual tension, unresolved romantic tension, angst, art, period typical attitudes, Colin is too dense to function but that is why we love him, Jealousy? Never heard of her, Eloise is the only braincell left and even she aint there yet, somebody come get herrrr she dancin like a stripper, oh the turntables, high dramance here my bbs

The dancing hall was dreadfully humid. Thick with an unusual heat that hadn't lessened come nightfall. Heavy with the scent of night-blooming flowers, perfume and sweat. It was the type of atmosphere that threatened thunder, or maybe just the histrionics that inevitably occurred when the social season was ending.

There was always at least one ill-advised display.

In many ways, she felt like an old hand at it now.

Lord knows how Prudence felt.

The pressure to make an amiable match was cut-throat, especially with mama nipping at their heels.

If Prudence were nicer, she might pity her older sister. Maybe.

The fluttering of her fan was necessary this evening. Moving it with growing desperation as she recovered from the last dance with a cup of sweet tea - courtesy of Sir Marshall. And while the gentleman's conversation still left something to desired, he'd almost impressed her yesterday when he'd come to call. Finally asking about _her_ interests after nearly choking on a biscuit.

Her measure of a successful encounter with the opposite sex had never been lower.

Prudence, for her part, dealt with her influx of admirers by growing spiteful. Her future uncertain as she faced the prospect of her fourth unsuccessful season out. If only she could deliver the interested parties into equally interested hands, she thought wistfully.

For her, the end of the season brought similar problems. There were only a few social engagements left and with every passing day, the pressure mounted. Mama was nearly rabid with it, insisting she secure a match. Refusing to risk going into her third season without any favorable offers. She needed to choose.

The drink was almost too saccharine as she took another fortifying sip. Careful to keep the glass in hand lest one of the men try for another dance. She winced, flexing her toes in her pointed shoes. _Her feet were sore already!_

As much as it pained her to admit, her mother wasn't wrong. All three of her suitors were from good families and were in decent reputation. Having one such admirer would be a boon. Having three to choose from might as well have been a sign from the heavens as far as mama was concerned.

There was only one problem. Still, she didn't love them.

_"And when has that ever stopped a woman from making a beneficial match? It's time to grow up, my dear. Was Marina not warning enough of the dangers of holding out for love?"_

As always, her mother's voice reigned harsh in her thoughts.

She thought wistfully about Daphne's fairy-tale match.

Wondering if the dream she was holding out for was merely that, a dream.

She was afraid she already knew the answer.

She looked away from where her suitors had congregated. Standing oddly close considering their burgeoning rivalries. She refused to wonder why. Trying to empty her mind of anything that might distress her. Chest tight with anxiety.

It was a lost cause.

But it gave her a precious handful of moments to herself.

A stretch of time where she could breathe and just _be_.

Even so, she smiled when she spied a familiar face by the refreshment table. Eloise gave her a wave, trying to edge around a couple deep in conversation. She watched her friend's progress with amusement. Dusting the chair beside her of any crumbs before Eloise dropped into it with bored grace.

"Goodness, it's stifling in here!" her friend complained, waving her hand in front of her face. So flushed in the cheeks she directed her fan towards Eloise instead. "Oh! That's heavenly! Keep doing that!"

She chuckled, offering the rest of her drink. Shaking her head when Eloise made a half-hearted attempt to refuse. Watching her down it immediately. Obviously parched.

"Thank you," Eloise hummed, lips dragging on the sugar-crusted rim. "Which suitor is this from? They have impeccable taste. Or have you enticed a fourth since we spoke this morning?"

She gently stomped on Eloise's foot, enough to peel laughter from both of them. Drawing eyes that lingered more than she was comfortable with. Namely, her trio of suitors. If avoidance was an art form, she was surely a proficient by now.

"Will your brothers be in attendance this evening?" she asked after what felt like an appropriate length of time. Like she was being polite, not near starving for a crumb of him.

Not that she'd know what to say. Not after being caught in his rooms with Eloise.

"No doubt," her friend answered, looking at the dancing couples with open disinterest.

She struggled not to ask _which_ brother. Knowing it would draw attention. Knowing that Eloise would likely cling to the barest hint of intrigue out of sheer boredom.

But apparently, she needn't have bothered.

"Colin has been in a right state since you last saw him. Personally, I think he's being ridicu- _oh_ , there he is!"

Her heart leapt in her chest. So close to jumping to her feet the points of her shoes dug into the floor before she got a hold of herself.

"Decided to grace the world with your presence, have you?" Eloise snarked.

She glanced up from her lap. Only to feel her face heat when she realized Colin was looking at her. Fine blue eyes so focused she wondered if she had something in her face.

"You look well," he blurted, awkward. Making her blink as Eloise huffed a disgruntled sound at being ignored.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the moment her suitors took notice. Eying the shift in their stance with growing worry. Lord Mason's neck had gone red, a sure sign of pique, as the three men took in Colin's arrival with no sign of welcome. Discomfort rose in her throat like an unnatural quickening. Making her think about every breath as she looked from Colin, to her suitors, then back again. And while she had no experience in such things, instinct urged caution.

"Thank you," she replied quickly, swallowing over the ache in her throat. Confused at their closeness as the hem of her dress threatened to hush over his boots. "Is that a new coat?"

Eloise opened her mouth, but Colin beat her too it.

"Indeed," he answered, looking mollified at it being noticed. Smoothing the front of the pale green coat he was wearing. If she'd been in a better state, she never would have brought it up. It was too close to giving away her secret. How she'd memorized the most ridiculous things. The cut of jacket he preferred, the colors he looked best in. If it concerned him, she made it her business to know. "I was in 'ton yesterday and spotted it in the window. They had my measurements and were able to get it made up this morning."

Eloise opened her mouth again, eyes narrowing.

"It's well fit," she offered, blushing again.

_Oh no. That wasn't appropriate. Not at all. Why had she said that? Oh goodness. Oh-_

"I'm glad you approve," he returned, the points of his cheeks highlighted with a pleasant rush of color. Looking like he was about to say something more before visibly stopping himself.

She envied his ability to self-censor.

There was a discomforted pause before-

"Have a dance then, Pen?" Colin offered, holding out his hand as the strains of a slower tune had people returning to the dance floor. "You like this one, if I recall?"

She dropped her fan.

Eloise dipped down and rescued it.

But she wasn't looking.

She _did_ like this one. It was a far more intimate dance than most. Nearly scandalous. With lingering touches and eye contact. Everything about it seemingly made for courting couples. It was her favorite and Colin had never asked her to dance it with him. _Not once._ In fact, there had been other parties, where she'd been on the sidelines, in want of a partner, and he had not offered. At least not until the start of a lighter, more fast-paced tune was announced.

She'd waited so long for this moment.

She'd dreamed of it. Hoped for it. _Prayed_.

And of now? He was asking _now?!_

"Ah, I regret to-" she stuttered, staring longingly at Colin's outstretched hand. Jittery in her skin as a feeling not unlike pins and needles prickled from her scalp downwards. Betraying the smoldering debris where her heart had been for having to refuse him. "I'm sorry, but-"

"Miss Featherington... lovely. If you've recovered, I believe this is my dance?" Lord Euron, cut in. Intruding so suddenly it startled her. Proof that everything else had ceased to exist for her. "I know how you adore this set."

Her hand came up – as propriety demanded. Heart in her throat as her glove grazed the open of Colin's palm. Brushing just so, perhaps by accident, before continuing into empty space. Drunk on the way his fingers flexed. As if his body hadn't caught up with the rest of him and fully intended to sweep her onto the dance floor – suitors be damned.

Instead, Lord Euron caught her hand like a prize. Sending her a slit-eyed smile before turning to Colin with only the thinnest veneer of politeness. Clearly aware how strong a possibility that might have been.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting. But I wouldn't want Miss Featherington to be late to the floor. Quite hard to come into the dance not from the beginning, don't you think? ...That said, while I admire your attentions on the lady, I think you will find her dance card quite full this evening."

The hush of quiet that fell between them was brutal. Even Eloise had no commentary.

"Shall we?"

Lord Euron's hand tightened around hers, forcing her to acknowledge he was there. Making it only natural for her to incline her head and allow him to bring her to her feet. Accepting her current reality as a lady would. With grace. With acceptance. With-

But she couldn't look away. Anyone watching would surely know her feelings from the intensity alone. Memorizing the way Colin's expression fell as Lord Euron guided her away. Away from every inch of where she wanted to stay, perhaps forever.

She'd waited all season to dance with him and now-

"Come Miss Featherington, we must make haste! I do hate not having a good spot for dancing."

She wasn't sure if it was anger or sadness that caused her to dash away tears as they took their places. The only thing she'd wanted for years was for Colin to ask her and he chose the one time she was obliged to refuse him. Surely somewhere the Devil was laughing.

Her lips trembled, faking a smile as Lord Euron beamed at her.

It was almost too much to bear.

Her disappointment was so keen she felt burdened by it.

Like any moment she might collapse in on herself.

Perhaps Eloise was right. Men rarely seemed equal to the passion behind female efforts.

* * *

Later, she might think about how the color of his new coat was almost the exact shade that her green dress had been last season. The one he'd commented on. The one she kept long after it was out of fashion. Refusing to let mama take it to get altered. The one she wanted kept exactly how he liked it.

But now was not later, according to the tears air-drying on her cheeks.

So, she danced.


	2. Chapter 2

"How long has Lord Euron been bothering, Pen?"

There was an uncomfortable burn in his stomach as he watched the lordling put his hand on Penelope's waist. So close it looked like they were sharing confidences before the gentleman took it a step further. Lips grazing the shell of her ear as the musicians signaled the start of the dance.

His fist balled in spite of himself.

The same one that still tingled with her touch.

_Even for the dance, did the man really need to keep her so close?_

He watched the proceedings with growing disquiet. Having to swallow convulsively as the burn worsened. Seemingly to scale as the dance encouraged more and more closeness. Truly, it was almost indecent. Every touch was lingering. Every placement of the man's hands at least half a sin. Every look exchanged made him want to-

It was a fight to get his fist to unclench. Sitting down in the chair Pen had vacated as his sister made to answer.

"Bother? Yes, you could call it that," Eloise snorted, rolling her eyes. "He is courting her, so I suppose that fits. And he isn't the only one."

_Not the only one?_

His eyes snapped up, following the jut of her finger towards two gentlemen he didn't know. They seemed in good kit, obviously men of some standing. But they were doing nothing save for watching Lord Euron and Pen sweep across the floor. Neither speaking to one another, nor sipping from the drinks they held. It was bizarre.

There were wolves in their eyes, he decided.

_When had this happened?_

The burn in his gut morphed into a worrisome tightness. Churning and vice-like in his chest.

"When..." he asked carefully, as carefully as someone could in his position. "When did this happen?"

Not carefully enough.

Eloise fixed him with a brutal side-eye.

"Why are you so concerned with her affairs?" she needled, flicking a curl out of her face with an irritated glare. "All three have been pursuing her since the start of the season. It's been quite the sensation. Where have you been? _For_ _months_? Though, Lady Whistledown doesn't seem to care about it. Surely she has to know? She's been reporting on anything and everyone, like usual. But not-"

_All season? All three of them?_

A sudden laugh drew his attention. Watching as Pen ducked her head to Lord Euron's chest, laughing graciously at something he said. Expression bonny as her curls hazed in front of her face, hiding her mouth. The gentleman's grin showed teeth, whispering something that made her titter again. It was all he could do not to stride across the room and rip his spindly hands off her.

_The liberties he was taking!_

_Where was her chaperone?_

_Surely this needed to be stopped?_

His fist tightened at his side again. Hiding the lapse in the space between their chairs. Unsure why he felt so protective as Lord Euron seemed to make a point of whirling Penelope as close as possible. Close enough that he felt the wind on his cheek as they passed.

He didn't like it.

He didn't like anything about it.

Indeed, if he'd been informed, he would have-

A voice, not unlike Lord Euron's, sounded out snidely in his mind's eye.

' _What would you have done, hmmm? What would you **really** have done? …Nothing. You wouldn't have done a damn thing and you know it.'_

It was almost second nature to try and share the blame. Wanting to demand why he hadn't been told. Wanting to rage against the entire notion. Wanting to know why Pen hadn't told him herself. They used to talk about everything. They'd been so close once. Close enough to know-

But just as quickly as the thoughts occurred, each one more unfair than the last, his anger deflated.

_Why would anyone think to tell him Penelope had suitors?_

_They were only friends, after all._

_He had no claim to her, or her affairs._

It was purely his fault he'd spent most of the season travelling. Uninterested in dances, indeed uninterested in all of it. Having had quite enough after the debacle of the previous season. He was shamed to admit the idea of Penelope being out in society another year had rarely crossed his mind.

He supposed he'd just assumed she'd be there, ever happy to see him when he came back to 'ton.

All shy smiles and voracious wit.

Now he was here, alone, silently cursing himself for his stupidity.

"I'm just...surprised is all," he murmured, any other explanation failing him.

Eloise stiffened beside him.

"Surprised?" she repeated, censure alive in her voice. "You're _surprised_ that Penelope is being courted? That she might be the object of not one- but three gentlemen's affection? I can't believe you! All this because you're sore her dance card was full? And you call her a friend?!"

He opened his mouth, reeling, but Eloise stalked off before he could reply. Mortification and the dark cloud of his thoughts were poor company. Keeping him rooted to his chair as Penelope was handed off from one suitor to another. Barely catching a glimpse of anything but the wisps of her skirts until he lost track of her completely.

There was a niggling, troublesome feeling alive in him now.

Something that told him he was thrice a fool and more besides.

That this was _his_ fault and he'd _let_ it happen.

And while he didn't disagree, he still didn't know _why_.

Or maybe he didn't _want_ to know why.

He kicked at the floorboards. The planks were worn smooth by the preceding decades and in need of replacement. Their shine dulled by dances and gatherings just like this one. The corner of his lip quirked upwards. Perhaps they'd witnessed similar disappointments. He could only imagine they had.

The crowd started to subside when the final dance of the evening was announced. Giving people the opportunity to gossip as carriages were called and servants hushed about, matching coats and canes with their owners. But he barely noticed. Too busy acquainting himself with a terrible, growing possibility. Of future days bereft of Penelope's company. For where there were suitors, an engagement was sure to follow. Marriage. Uprooting. Estrangement from one's family and friends. Then-

_He could hardly think of it!_

He took his coat with a chastened expression. Allowing the attendant who brought it to help him dress. Only then realizing he was the last guest in the hall. Meaning it was all but certain he'd have to leave on horseback. And, as if in agreement with his suspicions, a sleepy black mare was waiting for him when he exited. Held in place by an equally tired steward as the lanterns spluttered low in their own melt – yawning shadows.

The night was cold as he directed the borrowed mare home.

It was just as well. He couldn't face anyone right now. Least of all Eloise.

But then, maybe avoidance was the root of the problem.

* * *

That night he didn't sleep well.

Nor the one after.

Perhaps that was why he ended up being so thoroughly deceived on the afternoon of the third.


End file.
